Drift

Down some artificial 38 degrees
juicing up on 9.8 m/s to overcome
the math of a drag coefficient; then
a heavy push, or something (as if
I'd know; I watched some guys do it
on TV when I was a kid in the 90s).

And then--
there you are,
sailing in the air
with your skis on
several buildings high. 
Good luck.

Personally, I would of course die
upon impact, having no training;
so these would be moments
full of profound implication:
final thoughts, memories, maybe
a regret or two, incomplete hopes.

But as my mind recites this life, I hope
I would notice that nothing propels me
except what I did before, and
the weight of what I am.

In a way, it's just floating.
in fact, it only differs
at the start, if you want to
think about it that way.

The question, therefore, is when
we start the jump

and if it has already begun, then
to relax: we all die on impact.




may 2018

Jazz in the shopping center

Of it all, I remember
only pieces: pretense, youth,
improvisation, laughter.

We were never as advertised,
neither rogue nor poet; unbidden,
I recall my claims to both
with embarrassed fondness.

Birthdays never stuck with me
but this one I see everywhere:
on the clock in the car, as
the number on a lock, simply
perpetuated in my world,
years onward.

It’s hard to understand, or forget,
people and the unsought ways
my mind or something deeper
calls up old bits of conversation,
remembers someone’s laugh or
calls up again a calendar date
that once held meaning—now,
less than, or greater than, before.

—The song ends, and I look around
to find I had forgotten my surroundings;
slowly return to this place
where I now happen to be.




may 2018